


Dragons of the North

by Johnlock_is_canon



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - How to Train Your Dragon Fusion, Case Fic, Crossover, Declarations Of Love, Dragon Sherlock, Dragons, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, First Time, Fluff, Injured John, Injured Sherlock, M/M, Shapeshifting, Smut, Virgin John, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7641793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlock_is_canon/pseuds/Johnlock_is_canon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson lives on the island of Berk, where fighting dragons is a way of life, and killing one is the only way to get any approval. Seeing how he is thought too weak to kill or fight dragons, he creates machines to do the work for him. Sneaking away during a dragon attack with a bola launcher, he finally hits a dragon. All he has to do is kill it, and he'll be the town's hero in an instant. Or at least popular enough to get him a girlfriend. But what happens when that dragon turns out to be Sherlock?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

This is Berk. It's twelve days north of Hopeless, and a few degrees south of Freezing to Death. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery. My village, in a word, sturdy. And it's been here for seven generations. But every single building is new. We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets. The only problems are the pests. You see, most places have mice or mosquitoes. We have...dragons. 


	2. Dragon Fight

 

“What’ve we got?” Stoick the Vast, chief of the tribe, asks in a heavy Scottish accent.

“Gronckles, Nadders, Zipplebacks. Oh, and Hoark saw a Monstrous Nightmare.”

Stoick grimaces, “Any Night Furies?”

“None yet.” The Viking replies. 

Stoick nods, “Good.”

**“** Hoist the torches!” Someone bellows off in the distance. 

oOo

John runs into the blacksmith's shop, grabbing an old apron and tying it on as he walks over.  

“Ah! Nice of you to join the party! I thought you'd been carried off by now!” Gobber says, turning his head towards John, but not ceasing to bang and bend a sword on the anvil. 

“Who, me? No! I'm much too muscular for them. They wouldn't even know what to do with all...this.” He says, gesturing to his not-all-that-muscular arm. John isn't really too weak. He's short, but strong enough to hold his own. Sort of. But he’s nowhere near the build of the other Vikings in the village. 

**“** Well, they need something to clean their teeth, don't they?” Gobber says with a laugh, and slaps John on the back, “Now get to work!” 

“FIRE!” Someone shouts in the distance. 

“Alright ya sorry sack of dragon dung, let's go!” Greg yells, leading the group of teens of the village, armoured and equipped with weapons, out to battle. 

John leans out the smithing window and stares in awe. Gobber lifts him from the sill and puts him back inside. 

“Oh come on! Let me out, please? They're job is so much cooler! I'm sixteen, a man now. I need to make my mark!” John puffs his chest out, putting his fisted hands on his hips. 

“Oh, you've made  _ plenty _ of marks. Just in all the wrong places!” Gobber says.

**“** Please, just two minutes. I'll kill a dragon. I swear. And my life will get  _ infinitely _ better. I might even get a date!” John pleads. 

“You can barely swing a full sized axe, you can't even throw a bola!”

Gobber holds up said weapon and a Viking grabs it, swinging around to pull down a dragon.

**“** Right, okay, fine, but this will throw it for me.” John stands proud next to a wooden contraption that's attached to a makeshift wheelbarrow and pats it on top. Which then opens and shoots a bola without warning, throwing it out the window of the shop. 

“Now see,  _ this _ right here is what I'm talking about!” Gobber exasperates. 

“It's just a mild calibration issue-” John starts. 

“John, just If you ever want to get out there to fight dragons, you need to stop all... this.” He waves his down to John's entire body. 

**“** But you just pointed to  _ all _ of me!” 

“Yes! There you go! Just stop being all of ….you!”

**“** Ohh…” John raises one finger and points it toward Gobber’s face. “You sir, are playing a  _ very  _ dangerous game. Keeping this much, uncontrollable... Viking-ness... contained? There  _ will _ be consequences!” He says, raising his finger into the air. 

“Right. I'll take my chances.” He shoves John a sword. “Sword. Sharpen. Now.”

A Nadder head is sure to get someone at least noticed. Gronckles are tough. Taking down one of those would _definitely be_ enough to get a girlfriend. A Zippleback? Exotic. Two heads means twice the status. And then, there's the Monstrous Nightmare. They have a nasty habit of setting themselves on fire.

But the ultimate prize is the dragon no one has ever seen. It's called a-

“NIGHT FURY! GET DOWN!” Someone yells. 

John leans out the window again, and sees a house get hit with a fiery blue white explosion. 

“They need me out there. Stay here and man the fort, John. Got it? Just….stay inside.” Gobber attaches an axe to his stump of a arm. He gives out a battle cry and runs out into the chaos. John watches him for a moment, to make sure he's out of sight, before turning and running to the bola thrower. He lifts it up by its back handles and starts to wheel it out the door. 

“John, where are you going?” A Viking asks as he runs by. “Get back here!”

**“** Yeah, yeah, I know! Be right back!” He shouts over his shoulder.

He pushes the weapon up to the top of an empty hill. He scans the sky for any sign of dragons. 

**“** Come on. Gimme something to shoot at, anything.” He eyes hone in on a dark outline against the night sky. He marks it up and waits. Another blue explosion hits the watch tower out in the water. John pulls the trigger and prays in the moments before it makes contact with the Fury. 

_ “ _ I hit it.” He says to himself in wonder. “Yes! I actually  _ hit  _ it!” Jumps up and turns around back to the village. “Did anybody see that?” A low growl comes from behind him. He turn back around slowly, only to see a Monstrous Nightmare is climbing over the hill’s outcropped ledge. It crushes the John's machine and huffs smoke out it's nostrils. 

**“** Except for you.” John says defeated. “Hey there, nice dragon, please don't eat me.” He puts his hands out in front of him. The Monstrous Nightmare roars and John can see the fire rising in the back of its throat. He lets out a cry and starts to sprint, the dragon breathing fire right at his heels. John runs back into the village, the Nightmare knocking down buildings and hits in its wake. John sees the large torch pole and makes for cover behind it, just as flames lick around the corner of it. John looks around the pole after the onslaught of fire stops, only to have the the dragon brings its head around to his unprotected back. 

The creatures begins to start the fire at the base of its throat, before its head is hit and knocked away by a large hammer, it's shot thrown off course, hitting a nearby house instead of John. John whips back around and sees Stoick the Vast in a standoff with the dragon. It starts to prepare to breathe its fire again, only to cough up a bit of magma, that drips down through its pointed teeth. 

**“** You're all out.” Stoick says and quickly fights off the dragon until it screams once more and flies away. It hits the tall torch on its way up, and it falls down onto several house, setting them aflame. Stoick turns toward John, anger etched deep into his face. 

John begins to run at the base of his neck. “Uh, sorry….Dad. I didn't mean to do all that, but I hit a Night Fury.” He starts. 

_ “ _ That's it. You're coming with me son.” Stoick says, dragging John back towards their large house, slightly farther away from the rest of the village. At this point, Vikings have gathered around them to watch. 

“No really! It's not like the other times, Dad! I really actually hit it! You were all busy and I had a clear shot. It went down, just off of Raven Point. We need to get a search party out there, before it-”

**“** _ Stop! _ John….just….stop. Every time you do anything, disaster follows. I have bigger problems than to deal with you. Winter's almost here and I have an  _ entire _ village to feed! Why can't you just listen?”

“I can't stop myself! I see a dragon and I have to just... kill it, you know? It's who I am, Dad.” John says feebly, trying to convince himself that it's true.

“You are many things, John. But a dragon killer is not one of them. Go back to the house.” Stoick turns away and starts to help put out the fires and assess damage around the village. John starts his trudge back to the house. 

“Quite the performance.” Anderson snickers as John passes by. 

“I've never seen anyone mess up that badly. You must have really tried hard to screw us over. By the way, how's that Night Fury?” Sally taunts. 

“Yes, thank you, thank you. I was trying, so...I really did hit one.” John says as he walks away. Gobber walk behind him, trying to be quiet, but with a peg for a leg, it's quite hard. 

“I don't need a  _ sitter _ .” John says, turning to face him. 

**“** Sure.” John huffs at this and let Gobber catch up to him. If he had to be escorted, might as well vent. 

“He never listens!” 

**“** Well, it runs in the family.” Gobber says to himself mostly, seeing as John is still going on. 

**“** And when he does, it's always with-with like a….disappointed scowl. Like I'm some bastard that he's ashamed of. ‘ _ Oh, you're my real son?’”  _ John says, heavily accenting his words. “‘ _ I thought that you were something born of infidelity. It would make much more sense, seeing as how the gods punish such acts, making children weak and worthless.’ _ ”

**“** Now, now, you're thinking about this all wrong. It's not so much what you look like, it's what's inside that he can't stand.” Gobber says, not quite thinking it all the way through.

“Thanks.” John says, rolling his eyes. 

Gobber sighs, “The point is, stop trying so hard to be something you're not.” The two reach the front of the house. 

John opens the door and walks halfway through. He stops and turns his head slightly. “I just want to be like one of you guys.”


	3. Ioshirin

Sherlock storms out of the house, secluded in the woods and rocky terrain. 

 

“Piss  _ off _ , Mycroft.” 

 

Mycroft sighs, “Sherlock, all I’m saying is that you need to be more careful. This time was so close….If anyone finds out, I can’t ensure your safety.” Mycroft answers calmly, which only infuriates Sherlock more.

 

“I never  _ asked _ for your protection!” Sherlock spits out and continues into the forest, going to a clearing and stands still in the middle. He takes a few calming breathes and begins to focus his energy on changing. His skin, morphing into midnight black scales, his spine lengthening all the way to the tip of his tail, his shoulder blades spreading into powerful wings. He opens his eyes, taking in a broader span of sight and breathes in his surroundings. He shakes himself out, changing always made him feel a bit stiff. Sherlock lifts his wings and pushes them down hard, shooting up from the ground to soar above the trees. He feels the wind in his face as he flies off that rock of an island.

 

He flies high enough until the winds can carry him and he glides. He heads for a neighboring village, about a few leagues away. He runs through the list of items he needs, mostly consisting of poisonous plants and healing herbs, which he gets from the town’s alchemist and botanist, Moriarty. He’s at least five years older than Sherlock, and is always too interested in what he’s doing, which annoys Sherlock to no end. 

 

He gets there in no time at all, and lands behind a large rock on the main island of the Mazy Multitudes, just outside the village. He shifts back into his human form, feeling his bones shrink, and stands up, fully clothed. He never quite figured out how that works. The clothes are never stretched or torn. It's easier just not to think about how it all works, he figured long ago. Sherlock heads into town, straight to the shop. 

 

“Sherlock! It's  _ so _ great to see you!” Jim Moriarty drawls when he arrives.

 

“Do you have what I asked for?” Sherlock replies, without returning pleasantries. 

 

“So  _ bossy _ , aren’t you?” He says with a grin that's enough to make anyone cringe, “Here you go.” And hands a leather bag of the work table next to him. “Oh! Silly me! I forgot that I have a special, rare shipment in from Berk, but I left it back at my house. Do you want to come with me to get it? I’ve saved it just for you.” He sing-songs.

 

Sherlock sighs, “Fine, but this will be quick. There will be  _ no _ funny business. We will not sit around exchanging stupid  _ pleasantries _ .” He all but spits out. 

 

“Oh that’s fine, that’s fine. Just follow me, it’s not too far away.” And practically skips off. They take the short walk to his house, located just a ways out of the center of the village. Moriarty throws open the door.

 

“Welcome to my humble abode.” He says, extending his arm and waving it around the room. A man comes walking down the stairs, still dressed in his rumpled night clothes, his hair mussed up. Sherlock was sure if he went upstairs, the whole room would reek of sex. 

 

“And this here is my helpful partner, Sebastian.” His eyes had a strange yellow-orange look to them, but Sherlock ignored it. 

 

“I believe we came here to get my plants?” Sherlock was getting very annoyed now. 

 

“Right, right. I’ll go get that, it's upstairs. Why doesn’t Sebby here go fetch you a drink? You must be  _ so _ thirsty after the travel you’ve had.” Sebastian nods once, silently and heads to a well out in back of the small house. Sherlock waits, looking around the open layout of the house. Some plants he often buys are potted in clay bowls. But otherwise, it looks like a normal Viking household. Almost too normal. He wants to inspect more, but Sebastian comes back into the house, holding a mug of water. Sherlock takes a step towards him, and takes the water from him, making observations as he approaches. Obvisously the sexaul partner of Jim Moriarty, strong upper body strength (was an oarsman most likely), dirty fingernails from digging and caring for plants (so partners in  _ every _ way), and seemed to be mute. Sherlock took a few sips as Moriarty came back down the stairs, carrying the plant. 

 

“What payment do you require.” Sherlock says, taking another drink of his water. 

 

“Oh, you don’t need to pay me anything,” He says waving his hand down, “Because I’ll have  _ you _ .” 

 

Sherlock eyes widened as he feels himself start to change without control. Instead of the slight stretching feeling that usually happened, he felt as if his bones were burning and his skin was being torn. “Why….how?” Sherlock manages to croak out before his vocal cords changing. Sebastian moves quickly, binding Sherlock with ropes and a leather belts at all points of movement, wings, legs, and mouth. He must have brought it in from outside. How could he have missed that, how? 

 

“So Sherly, you’re probably wondering how I know about you, and how I did that. Well, the first part is easy; how could I  _ not _ know? You aren’t very inconspicuous. You’d have to be an  _ idiot _ not to see a Night Fury fly into the forest, then have Sherlock Holmes appear just a little while later. Now this little thing right here,” He says holding up the plant, “Is what changed you. Permanently. Go on. Try to change back into your human form.” 

 

Sherlock tries. But nothing happens. No rearranging of bones and organs. No soft skin morphing from rough scales. Nothing. 

 

Moriarty tsks. “It is a shame though. Your human body was so…. _ delicious _ . This plant is called Ioshirin, or more commonly known as Dragon’s Blood. It is  _ very _ rare. The last of it's kind….and the antidote to your problem.” Sherlock lunges forward to try and grab it, snarling, but is pulled back sharply by Sebastian.

 

“Now, now. I don’t want you getting hurt, so please do behave. I don’t want to take drastic measures. But to be on the safe side….” Moriarty walk over to the large fireplace and tosses the plant into it, sending up sparks and flames as it wilts. Sherlock lunges forward again, but is pulled back more harshly. “Seb, take him to his new home, please.” Sebastian drags Sherlock across the wooden floor out back, where there is a wooden door, slightly slanted, that would lead to an underground cellar for storage. Sebastian throws open the hatch, and none too carefully, throws Sherlock down into what will become his new home.  


	4. The Escape

Sherlock endures the damp basement for three long days. He’s kept chained to the floor, with the iron bracelet around his hind leg. His wings and jaw still bound, but his legs are free. On the fourth day, opportune arises. Sebastian comes down, checking to make sure Moriarty's prize hasn't died....yet, but forgets to leave the spade he uses with the plants outside. Sherlock thanks himself for the years he spent pickpocketing his brother as he nicks it off of him. He waits for Sebastian to walk up the steps and shut the heavy hatch before he starts to saw away at the leather muzzle. The moment it snaps, he stretches his jaw and winces at the sore, unused muscles. He takes a moment to listen for any sign that Sebastian or Moriarty had heard him, but Sherlock hears nothing. He uses his now-free mouth to tear off the leather bindings on his wings. Sherlock focuses on gathering the fire at the base of his throat, and shoots the lightning-like blast at the chains that tie him to the floor. They are incinerated instantly and he knows that someone _must_ have heard that. He rushes to the door and shoots another fiery burst, and the door erupts into splinters. Leaping through the smoking exit, he lands into the soft grass and sees Moran rushing from around the front of the house. Sherlock sets off running towards a sharp cliff drop about a hundred meters away. Perfect. Sherlock pushes himself harder, running to the edge at full speed. Moran is shouting behind him, but he doesn’t look back, it will only slow him down. He finally reaches the edge and leaps off, spreading his wings and beats them in one hard push, shoving him up far into the air where no one can reach him.

 

He beats his wings twice more, achieving a speed that only a Night Fury could accomplish. High up in the clouds, he heads to Berk.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock sighs with relief when the island of Berk comes into view. He looks to the moon that's low in the sky and realizes that there is only an hour or two until dawn. He decides that heading to the forest would be the best place to start the search for Ioshirin. He’s taken out of his thoughts by a Gronckle buzzing by overhead. He turns looks back over his shoulders and sees a horde of dragons heading to Berk as well. He curses himself for not hearing them sooner and he flies up into the dark clouds over head, concealing his presence. Sherlock hears the shouts of the Vikings and growls of dragons down below.

 

He sees a house, empty of people and picks up speed. Swooping down from the dark sky, he shoots and the house is hit by the blue-purple strike. The wood cracks and splinters and burns, and he is far out of sight by then. He hears a man bellow down below, “NIGHT FURY!” He grins a bit at that, or as much as a dragon can smile. It feels good destroying things, his pent up anger being released. He spots an abandoned watch tower, and circles it once high above before shooting down and fires the lightning-like flash. He hears something click and fly through the air from the small outcrop near the tower, he turns, only to be faced with ropes, weighed down by large, round stones. He cries out as he’s hit and loses control of his flight, free falling into the forest. He hits a tree, cracking it in half, and finally hits the ground.

 

Sherlock continues moving, skidding through the dirt, making a large gouge in the land. He finally slows to a stop on flat ground. His whole body is sore and hurts. His legs are in a tangle beneath him, trapped within thick hemp rope and stones. He tries to move and free himself, but it futile. Sherlock lays his head down in defeat. Just resting his eyes for a moment, a short break would be nice….


	5. Kill the Dragon

John shuts the door, and leans his head against it. Weighing his options, he stands up, shakes himself and heads out through the back door. He runs up and over the hill behind his house into the forest. Pulling out his notebook and charcoal pencil he marks possible locations of where the Night Fury could have landed. 

oOo

 

After two hours of walking through pricker-bushes, tripping on roots, and being hit in the face by branches, John throws his arms up.

 

“I give up! Oh, the gods hate me. Some people lose their favorite mug or a knife. Oh no, not me. I manage to lose an _entire_ _dragon_!” He scribbles on the map, making it indecipherable. He hits a branch in his anger, and it snaps back and hits the side of his head. 

 

“Typical.” John mutters. He looks to the tree where the branch came from, and sees the it's been split down the middle. Half still upright, the other lying on the ground. Starting at the end of the tree, the dirt is gauged deep. He follows the trail until it reaches a large rock. He lifts himself up to see over it. Johns breath catches and he ducks back down. A dragon is lying just meters beyond the rock. He lifts himself back up slowly, and sees that the dragon is wrapped on a bola.  _ His _ bola he shot at a Night Fury. The midnight black beast is unmoving. John climbs over the rock and lands lightly on his feet and moves closer to the dragon.

 

“Oh my gods.” He whispers to himself, “I did it….I actually killed a dragon! This-this will fix  _ everything _ !” He walks over to the Fury confidently and puts his foot on it.

 

“I have conquered-”

 

The dragon huffs out a laboured breath and rolls it's head towards him. John almost falls as he leaps away from the live dragon. The Night Fury opens it's eyes and looks to John from where it's lying on it's side. 

 

John takes in a breath and pulls out his knife from the inside of his jerkin vest, “I-I  _ will _ kill you, dragon. I am a viking….I am a viking! I’ll take your heart back to the village and show it to my father. ” He raises the knife above his head with both hands. He sets his face, ready to plunge it deep into the chest of the beast. But, he looks over to the dragons face. It closes it's light blue and green eyes, and lets its head drop to the ground in defeat. John shakes his head and turns back to look at it's chest. He tightens his grip on the knife and brings it down, letting his hands and the flat of the blade rest on his light ash-blonde hair. 

 

“I did this.” He says, almost in disbelief. He tugs at his hair with his hands and kneels down before the logical side of his mind can kick in. He grabs the rope and starts sawing away at it. The dragon’s eyes snap open and it looks to John. John continues cutting the rope in two other places before it falls limp. Before John can do anything, the dragon leaps up onto it's feet and pins John against the rock he was hiding behind. The Night Fury stares him down for a moment before opening its large jaws. John almost faints, thinking he is about to be obliterated by the fire from the dragon. But instead, the dragon just roars in his face, and bounds off into the trees. It opens it's wings and tries to fly over a cove in the ground, but it can’t keep steady and falls down into it. John hears a splash as he stands up, and promptly faints as his legs fail him and falls back to the ground. 

 

oOo

 

John eventually sees his house come into sight. It was past nightfall by the time he had awoken and trudged back through the forest. He was half sure the whole excursion with dragon didn’t even happen. He walked up to the front of the house and stood in front of the door, knowing that his father would be awaiting him inside, who could be even more dangerous and terrifying than a dragon when angered. John sighed and quietly open the door, slipping inside, and shut it with a soft  _ thump _ behind him. He quickly walks over to the stairs and starts to go up, making it almost halfway before his father says, “John.” John dropps his head, and goes back down the stairs. He stands facing his father, who is sitting on the bench of their table. 

 

“Dad! Uh….I have to talk with you.”

 

“I need to speak with you too, son”

 

John takes in a breath as he starts to speak at the same time as Stoick.

 

“I’ve decided that I don’t want-”

 

“I thinks it's time you learn-”

 

“To fight dragons” They end in unison.

 

Stoick clears his throat, “You go first.”

 

“No, no,  _ you _ go first.” 

 

“Right. You finally get your wish. Dragon Training. You start in the morning.” 

 

“Oh no,” John says, running his hand through his hair, “I  _ really _ should have gone first. ‘Cause, I was, well I was thinking that we really have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, ya know? But do we have enough….medical Vikings or small home repair Vikings? Maybe-”

 

“You’ll need this.” Stoick says as he shoves a sword, that is almost as tall a John, into his arms. John stumbles a bit with the weight of it. 

 

“No, Dad, I don’t  _ want _ to fight dragons.” 

 

“Sure you do. You’ll love it as soon as you get in the arena. Gobber was the one who convinced me. He said that today you were begging him to let you out there and fight dragons.” Stoick says.

 

John curses his past self. “Okay, rephrase: Dad, I  _ can’t _ kill dragons.” 

 

“You can’t  _ yet _ , but you will.”

 

“No, I’m really very extra certain I won’t.”

 

“John, it's time you learned our ways, to be one of us.”

 

“Are you not listening to me  _ at all _ ?” 

 

Stoick is past the point of convincing at this point, “Son, this is important! When you carry this sword, you carry our entire tribe. You walk like us, you talk like us, you think like us. You will  _ be _ like us. No more of….this.” He waving his hands at John.

 

“You just gestured to all of me!” John says exasperated.

 

“Do you understand?” 

 

“This conversation is feeling extremely one-sided.” John says, sure now that his Dad has not heard a single thing he said. 

 

“Do-you-understand?” Stoick says, getting angier. 

 

“Yes.” John answers defeated. 

 

“Good.” He nods, “I’m heading out to find the monsters’ nest is. I have a good feeling this time. I’ll be back….probably. Train hard.” Stoick turns and walk out to the door. 

 

“I’ll be here. Maybe.” 


	6. Dragon Training

John walks down into the dragon training pit. Its floor and walls made of stone, with a metal caged dome over the top of it. There are multiple large wooden doors around the curved walls, with beams barring them shut. John sees the rest of teens his age standing in the center, chatting before the day of training begins. 

 

“I hope I get some serious burns!” He hears Anderson shout. 

 

“Yeah, I’m hoping to get some claw marks, maybe on my shoulder or lower back,” Greg says with a smile. 

 

“Yeah, scars are the best, right guys?” John says sarcastically.

 

“Oh great, who invited  _ you _ here?” Sally sneers, coming to stand next to Anderson. 

 

Mike Stamford comes to stand next to John, “Don’t worry,” He says clapping John on the back, “You’re much too short for the dragons to think of you as a threat.” 

 

“Uh, thanks, I think.” John says, scratching his head, and heads over to where the rest of the group is standing around Gobber.

 

“Welcome to Dragon Training,” He says with a smile, “At the end of training, the recruit who does best will have the honor to kill their first dragon in front of the entire village! Now, behind these doors,” He sweeps his arm around the circle, “Are just a few of the species that you’ll learn how to fight. The Deadly Nadder….”

 

“Speed: eight, Armour: 16,” Molly whispers to Sarah, who's standing next to John.

 

“The Hideous Zippleback….”

 

“Plus eleven stealth times two.”

 

“The Terrible Terror….”

 

“Attack: eight, Venom: twelve.”

 

“The Monstrous Nightmare….”

 

“Firepower: fifteen.”

 

“The Gronckle….”

 

“Jaw Strength: nine.”

 

“Can you stop that!” Gobber yells at Molly. 

 

She practically jumps out of her skin, and squeaks out “Sorry!”

 

Gobber walks over to one of the doors, his wooden leg echoing as it hits the stone beneath. He lifts up the bar in place and swings the door open.

 

“Wait, aren’t you going to teach us first?” Anderson exclaims, fear evident in his voice. Gobber opens the other half of the door and a Gronckle flies out.

 

“Eh, I believe in learning on the job,” The Gronckle spies the group and heads towards them, “Today is about survival, if you get hit, you’re dead. So! What's the first thing that you’ll need?”

 

“A doctor?” John says feebly.

 

“A shield!” Greg shouts.

 

“Right! Shields are a Viking's’ best friend. If you have to choose between a weapon and a shield, choose the shield.” Everyone scrambles to the rack of shields and weapons, grabbing the closest ones. John puts the shield on his right arm, and holds the axe in his dominant left hand. John turns his head and sees Mike and Anderson stumble apart from two blasts on the shield they were sharing. 

 

“Stamford, Anderson, you’re out!”

 

“That’s no fair!” Anderson whines, “Mike was taking up the whole shield! If I had my own-”

 

“Stop it, both of you! Now, shields are good for another thing: noise! It's confuses a dragon’s aim.”

 

The remaining teens bang their swords and axes against their shields, making the Gronckle start to hover unevenly, eyes glazing over. 

 

“Every dragon we have information on has a limited number of shots. How many does a Gronckle have?” Gobber asks from where he’s leaning against the wall.

 

“Five?” Greg asks, still banging on the shield.

 

“No, six!” Molly shouts out.

 

“Correct, six! Thats enough for the lot of you.”

 

The Gronckle shoots at Molly, then Greg, hitting both of their shields out of their grasps.

 

“Molly, Greg, you’re done!”

 

“So,” John says standing next to Sarah, “I guess it's just us now.”

 

“Nope. Just you.” She dives and rolls out of the way of a blast, which hits John’s shield and sends it rolling. The Gronckle locks it's eyes on John, forcing him to start running after the shield. The shield rolls too far to get to and he’s backed against the wall, the Gronckle looming over him. The dragons opens it's mouth to fire at John, when Gobber grabs it in the mouth with his hook for a hand, and the shot hits just inches above John’s head. 

 

“That’s six, now let’s put you back where you belong you overgrown lizard.” Gobber drags the dragon back through the doors and shuts them with a solid  _ thump _ .

 

“Remember that a dragon will always…. _ always _ ….go for the kill. Well, that's all for today, I hope you all learned something. Be here at eight a.m. sharp.”

 

oOo

 

John makes his way back to the clearing he found the Night Fury in, kneeling down to pick up the bola rope and stone in his hand, “So why didn’t you?” He wanders down further to where he saw the dragon fall into the cove-like pit, and looks down over the sharp drop, and sees a pond of water, and a dead tree. He goes back and walks down a dip in the land, following the path down and through the earth about two breast-width wide and exits onto a small stone outcrop. John leans over the edge seeing if the dragon is still there. 

 

“Well this was useless.” He says, before falling backwards when a dark blur of motion shoots up past him. The Night Fury begins to fall before it reaches the top, and tries to scramble for a hold on it's way down, but it's claws can’t catch onto anything. It continues to fall, before flipping over and spreading it's wings meters before it hits the ground. The dragons glides wobbly to the ground and stumbles in its landing across the other side of the cove. The dragon shakes itself off then flap its wings, leaping on the wall again, only to fall again. 

 

“Why don’t you just fly away?” John asks himself. He crawls down a few rocks then kneels. Reaching into his vest he pulls out his notebook and charcoal pencil and begins to sketch the Night Fury where it's lying on the ground below. John looks at the dragon’s tail, then realizes why it can’t fly.

  
“You’re missing a tail wing….” He smudges the tail where he drew it and drops the pencil. “No no no no….” John reaches over the edge, grasping the air trying to catch the falling pencil, but it's to far out of his reach. It bounces off the rocks below and the dragon’s ears perk up. THe Fury turns and raises it head, until it sees John. It moves into a defensive position, hackles raised and eyes narrowed as it stares John down. John holds the stare for a moment before getting up and quickly climbing back up the rocks out of the clearing. He thinks to himself that he shouldn’t go back to see it, but his heart tells him he will. Because for all it's worth, John Watson really does love dangerous situations, even if no one believes him. 


	7. Our War

Thunder clashes and the rain falls with such ferocity, that it's tiring to move. John walks up the steps to the Great Hall, a massive wooden building with high roofing made for banquets and meetings. He finally reaches the tall doors and pulls one open just enough to slip through. The other trainees are sitting on benches along the long tables.

 

“So where did you all see room for improvement in the ring today? Greg?” John hears Gobber ask. 

 

“I need to work on my agility. If I were able to move faster, I could have avoided the Gronckle’s shot.”

 

John walks over to the table, where they’re all sitting and grabs a plate of food.

 

“Very good, Greg,” Gobber says, “And what about you John? Where did you go wrong?”

 

He heads to sit down next to Anderson, only to have him move over, not allowing for John to sit. He sighs designedly and walks over to the other table farther down, sitting alone.

 

“He showed up.” Sally said, disgust evident in her voice.

 

“He didn’t get killed.” Anderson snickered next to Sally.

 

“He’s never where he’s supposed to be.” Sarah says, glaring at him from across the tables.

 

“Thank you, Sarah. Now….”Gobber tosses a book down onto the table, “You all will need to eat, sleep and breathe this stuff. The Dragon Manual. This here has everything we know about every dragon we know of. No attacks tonight, so study up.”

 

“Wait you mean, _read_?” Anderson asks, the word sounding acidic on his tongue.

 

“I’ve read it! It's great!” Molly pipes up, “There’s this one type of dragon the sprays boiling water and another that can camouflage itself in any-”

 

“I was actually planning on reading that, but now….” Sally says and stands up to leave.

 

“How about you guys _read_ about dragons, and I’ll go _train_ to _fight_ dragons.” Greg says as he walks away, the rest of the group trailing in his wake.

 

“So I guess I’ll see you all-” The door slams and John sighs, “Tomorrow….” John grabs that book off the table, and slides a candle from the far end of the table next to him. He opens the book, letting the pages fan off his thumb.

 

“Thunderdrum: This reclusive dragon inhabits sea caves and dark tide pools. When threatened, the Thunderdrum can produce a concussive sound that can kill a man at close range. Extremely dangerous, kill on sight. Timberjack: This gigantic creature has razor sharp wings that can slice through full grown trees. Extremely dangerous, kill on sight. Scauldron: Sprays scalding water at its victim. Extremely dangerous. Changewing: Even newly hatched dragons can spray acid. Kill on sight. Bewilderbeast, The Skrill, Boneknapper, Whispering Death. Burns its victims, skins its victims, suffocates its victims, turns it's victims inside-out. Extremely dangerous, extremely dangerous, kill on sight, kill on sight, kill on sight…” John flips through the book until he finds the page he’s really looking for. “Night Fury: Speed, unknown. Size, unknown. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Never engage this dragon. Your only chance, hide and pray it does not find you.” John pulls out his sketch as the thunder outside crashes, “Why didn’t you kill me? If you wanted to, you already would have.” John stands up quickly pushing the bench back, and heads home, an idea already forming in his mind.

 

oOo

 

“So, I was wondering why the Dragon Manual doesn’t have anything on Night Furies. Is there another book, part two maybe? A Night Fury field guide?” John asks, staring up at Gobber, who is standing outside the training arena, leaning on the domed cage. The Deadly Nadder fires at John, and narrowly misses, almost singeing the edge of his clothes.

 

“Focus, John! You’re not even trying!” Gobber yells. John turns around and stares at today’s maze step up. The walls are sturdy enough to hold a dragon, and the Nadder is doing exactly that. Hopping from wall to wall with almost bird-like agility.

 

“Today’s lesson is all about attack! The Nadder is light and quick on it's feet, and if you want to strike, you’ll have to be quicker and lighter!” John sees the Nadder a few walls away, and runs into the maze, working in the opposite direction. Making a quick left, then two rights, he comes to the beginning of a long walkway. In the middle he sees Sally and Anderson, standing directly in front of the dragon.

 

“Every dragon has a blind spot. Find it, hide in it, and strike!” Gobber yells from above.

 

Sally is standing an arm's-length distance from the Nadder’s head, with Anderson pushed up close behind her.

 

“Can you stop that!” She whisper-shouts.

 

“Stop what?” He replies, with a smug grin evident in his voice as he rubs against her.

 

Sally tries to push him away, without taking her eyes off the dragon, but he grabs her arm and tugs her closer and says, “Don’t you like that?” as he practically grinds against her are. John can hear his nasally voice from where is trying to sneak closer, and escape down the path to their right.

 

Sally turns into his arm, acting like she’s going up for a kiss, and brings her weapon hand down and around, slamming the large hammer into the back of his knee. Anderson cries out and falls to the ground.

 

“ _Don’t_ try that again,” She snarls down at him. The dragon hears their movement and shoots at Sally, who narrowly avoids being hit.

 

“Blind spot, yes. _Deaf_ spot, no, not so much.” Gobber laughs.

 

During the bickering, John slips by, unnoticed by the Nadder, makes a get away. He runs down the middle, only to be hauled sideways into another passage behind a wall by the neck of his vest.

 

“Get _down_.” Sarah hisses out through clenched teeth. John scrambles a bit to get behind her and Greg who are crouched down, weapons and shields in ready positions. Sarah carefully peers around the corner and the Nadder takes sight of her. Greg leaps up quickly, alines his heavy hammer and throws....only to have it hit the Nadder’s side and bounce off harmlessly.

 

“Oh _shit_ .” Greg says, eyes wide with fear now, as the dragon lets out a bird-like cry. Sarah shoves past John and starts to run with Greg next to her, the Nadder knocking down the make-shift walls in it's wake. John takes off in the other direction, weaving through the maze. As he looks behind, he runs into someone, and falls flat on his back. A heavy _thunk_ goes through his right arm, where the person’s axe has wedged itself in his shield.

 

“Watch where you’re going!” He hears the voice of Sarah shout at him, while she tries to pull the axe out, wrenching his arm up in the process. John lifts his head off the ground, and sees the dragon charging at the two of them. Sarah gives one last, hard tug, and the axe pulls free. She swings around and hits the dragon square on the temporal bone, John notes in a slight stun. The dragon is put off enough by the blow to stop its attack and Gobber hooks it in the jaw, like he did the Gronkle and hauls it off to the cell. John slowly starts to stand up, his whole body sore from the rough impact to the rock floor.

 

_When did he get down here?_

 

He’s shaken from his daze by Sarah yelling at him.

 

“Do you think this is some sort of joke? Our parents’ war is about to become ours. Figure out which side you’re on.” She throws the axe to the ground and stalks off, the rest of the group following behind. He watches as they go out, being left alone in the middle of the arena. John vaguely hears Gobber shut the dragon's door and shout out something to him. He slips the battered shield off his forearm and lets it clatter to the ground. 

 

“I’m sure as seven hells not on yours.” John mutters walking out, thinking to what Sarah said.

  
“But maybe,” He says, remembering a particularly mysterious, black dragon, “I’m on yours.” And a light smile touches his lips at the thought.


End file.
